


dizzy with love

by stormyshark



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Character Study, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Sort Of, altair feels the same about malik but shhh don't tell the novices, malik melts at the sight of altair and really who can blame him?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29751462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormyshark/pseuds/stormyshark
Summary: It's a hot day in Jerusalem and Malik is thinking about Altaïr, as one does. Takes place right before the end of AC1.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	dizzy with love

It was another blazing hot day in Jerusalem, and the rafiq stood as still as a statue behind the faded wooden counter. He was glued to the map he was meticulously drawing out with a now worn-out quill, with eyes as dark as the night sky flicking a hair's length from side to side; watching intently as he brought his hand further down the parchment, creating a line so crisp that it could cut through the bone of another. Malik Al-Sayf made sure that no ink was to be wasted. He valued perfection over all, and this task was ideal for exercising that very belief. Funnily enough, though, it was an activity that was just as infuriating as it was rewarding, and the man sometimes found himself cursing angrily as he tossed around map after crumpled map over his shoulder and onto the stone floor of the bureau in frustration, for he failed to live up to his exceedingly high expectations. Today was a good day, however, for his mind and heart were clear, and he soon found out that those two things would aid him considerably in these tasks as a rafiq, and especially so with living in general. 

"Mm," he nodded to himself, and removed the quill tip from the map, brushed it against a stained white cloth nearby, and set the utensil down gently. He was finished, and he did a damn good job, too. Malik couldn't help but smile as he gingerly rolled up the map with his hand, and tucked it in on the shelf behind him with its other brothers, giving it a playful pat. Despite the nauseating heat, the rafiq was in quite a good mood. In fact, he'd been in a good mood for weeks now, and the novices were taken aback, chattering amongst themselves, rumors sailing all across the Holy Land. Word got around fast, for the Assassins were everywhere. What on Earth could have made the usually bitter Malik so soft-hearted all the sudden? Did something happen? Perhaps a terrible thing befell the man Malik said to detest the most, the great Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, and he was riding the high of that? The latter claims otherwise, but he might just be defending his pride as always. Or perhaps, did Malik meet somebody? A special someone that managed to chip away at all that ice around his heart, leaving someone almost completely different in the glow of the thaw?

As Malik recalled overhearing his underlings, he merely chuckled, for he too remembers speculating about the mysteries of his elders. He further inferred that it elicited some form of joy for the novices, as he could very clearly remember the glee written all over their faces. Malik decided that feigning ignorance when asked about these rumors was the best course of action. If the young ones started a fistfight over such diatribes, only then would he intervene, but he knows the lot of them mean no harm, and only wish to know of Malik on a more intimate level. His smile fell as he absentmindedly dragged his finger across an indented groove of his well-loved counter. Intimacy… Not a concept completely lost to the rafiq, and he thanked whatever higher power in the sky for that. He knew of different forms. With his late brother, Kadar, his former lovers, now roaming in lands unbeknownst to Malik. It’s funny, though. His lips curved upward once again. He remembered how funny he found the newly blossoming intimacy between him and this special someone the novices gossiped about to be. You see, they were onto something. They were anything but dense, as they were taught to be as keen as the eagles that soar in the clouds.

What they didn’t know, however, was that Altaïr was that special someone. That’s why he found it so funny.

To watch the Master Assassin grow over these past 3 months was something so blessed to Malik. Altaïr very often says that the rafiq himself has changed much himself, and for some reason, it always leaves him flustered. Perhaps it was the heartfelt sincerity in those words that left him speechless, that left his ears burning like cinders. The way his deep golden eyes crinkle slightly as he smiled at him with the light of one thousand suns when he first told him such. Had he told the younger him that he was now hopelessly in love with Altaïr, he would’ve surely been gutted and hung up on a wall by him. Malik was no stranger to vitriol, and neither to jealousy. If anything, it was jealousy that clouded his grieving mind whenever he thought of the other Assassin, not hatred. He knew Altaïr was beloved, far more beloved than he, even after he’d lost his brother within Solomon’s Temple. Even after he had violated the Creed time and time again, his arrogance and ruthless conviction obfuscating judgement. His skill, technically speaking, far outshined his flaws as a person, and he was given a second chance. That tugged at Malik’s envy in the worst ways imaginable. It twisted him against an ally bent on redemption so nastily. He had often flip-flopped between thinking whether or not such bile was necessary for Altaïr’s humbling, but the more he thinks back to his apology, the way he fidgeted with his missing ring finger as he spoke of losing Malik’s arm, how those brilliant golden eyes casted downward were glazed over with the most desperate shame that the rafiq had ever seen, the more it made his soul ache. It was then and there that Malik knew Altaïr had changed.

“All this time, I never told you I was sorry” repeated in Malik’s brain over and over for the coming days. Even after his opinion on Altaïr softened considerably, he never expected the man to apologize. Maybe there were remnants of doubt swimming around within his head-- he wouldn’t put it past himself to doubt even in the best of moods-- but he just remembers staring at the Assassin in awe as he laid himself bare for the first time in what seemed like eons. If there was anything about Altaïr that stayed the same, it was his genuine nature. He always seemed to be explaining, justifying, and extrapolating on why he does what he does or why he is the way he is. Sometimes to excess. Malik once figured it was a way to shield insecurity, but he was wrong. Even in arrogance, Altaïr was always earnest.

Malik had come to adore that about him.

“Safety and peace, my friend,” a familiar deep voice cut through Malik’s reminiscing like cloth being shorn by a knife, and the rafiq craned his neck back to meet the source of the voice with his eyes, and his face glowed with joy at seeing him. Altaïr had a tendency to show unannounced, but Malik excused it at this point. He was an Assassin, and they were to be quiet. He still ponders to himself how he didn’t hear the man enter the bureau when he prided on his hearing being so keen. Perhaps he was too deep in thought, but it didn’t endanger his life, so he merely brushed it aside.

“I hope I am not intruding on any important business. You seemed very invested in staring at the floor,” the Assassin playfully snipped, and the rafiq simply rolled his eyes, but the smile that sat upon his face did not leave.

“Oh, so the Master Assassin has finally developed a sense of humor? Took you long enough.”

Altaïr mockingly gawked and placed both his hands flat on his chest, mimicking a wound to the heart.

“And you’re as scathing as ever, Malik! As far as I know, I’ve always been hilarious.”

Malik raised an eyebrow, having long since rested his chin on his open hand, elbow resting on the wood of the counter.

“Have you, now? Please be so kind as to enlighten me when you have been this comedic genius you so adamantly claim to be. Was the midwife laughing when you were born into this world?”

Altaïr pursed his lips smugly when he crossed his arms.

“Perhaps she was.”

“I highly doubt that.”

The Assassin gives an almost defeated shrug and breaks his gaze with Malik, only for a moment before looking back up and cocking an eyebrow innocently.

“Still counts as being funny, right?”

Malik furrowed both his brows this time, meeting gold with romantic dark brown. He then sighs, shaking his head. A laugh is still a laugh, he reasons.

“I suppose so.”

Altaïr chuckles, and paces closer to the counter.

“How have you been, Malik?” He asks, a warm smile spreading across his lips.

Malik rises from the countertop, feeling his face flush, but not from the heat. 

“I’ve been doing well, all things considered,” he responds, running his hand through his hair. “It has been hot as sin here."

The Assassin nodded vehemently in agreement, taking that as his cue to pull down his hood, and Malik ‘wow’ed at how damp Altaïr’s curls were.

“As you can see, I myself have been melting like snow.”

“Indeed you have, my friend!” Malik placed his hand on his chin incredulously, and then found himself looking around the bureau for something.

“Do you need something to dry off? I cannot imagine your robes would be a pleasant option.”

Altaïr finds himself laughing at that. It sounds like Heaven to Malik.

“I would very much appreciate that! I have done such with my robes before, and it was absolutely demoralizing.”

Malik half-laughs and half-grimaces audibly at that statement, and sets about the bureau, leafing through nearby articles of clothing neatly stacked on a shelf for cloth of any kind that wasn’t something to be worn. Altaïr situates himself on the countertop, sitting with his leg bent over his thigh, and resting his clasped hands over the position, waiting patiently for the rafiq to finish his search.

"Aha!" Malik exclaims, making Altaïr jump a little. He wrenched out a worn, tan cloth from the shelf, all neatly folded up. It hadn't seen the light of day in what seemed like years. He made haste towards the sitting Assassin and handed it to him, taking note of his precarious position.

"Sitting on counters now, too? My, you have certainly gotten bold, haven't you?" Malik tutted, placing his hand on his hip, and Altaïr snorted while rubbing the cloth over his curls.

"The all-powerful and mighty Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad can sit wherever he pleases," the Assassin shot back, sticking out his tongue teasingly, and the rafiq did nothing but chuckle.

"Well, does the oh-so-powerful Master Assassin mind if this humble rafiq joins him?" Malik places his palm on his chest, bowing in query. Altaïr tosses the used cloth over his shoulder and looks around the room, mock-thinking. After a moment of "consideration", he shrugs and nods.

"He doesn't mind. Come. Sit with me."

Malik grins and pushes himself up onto the counter, taking his place by Altaïr's side and scooting a bit closer. He may have teased the man for being bold, but in all honesty, they were both fairly headstrong. The rafiq only registered the closeness between them when Altaïr rested his arm around his shoulders, and he tensed up, with the infuriatingly perceptive Assassin taking note of such.

"Do you not like this?" Altaïr asked, concern glazed over his eyes, and Malik shook his head furiously.

"No, no! You're alright. You're fine. It's just…"

_ I've never been touched by you before this way. _

"It's been forever since I've been on the receiving end of a friendly gesture."

"Ah, I understand. It's been a while for me, too. Maybe I'm so eager because I am so out of practice," Altaïr muses, meekness growing within his voice. Such a foreign noise to hear for Malik, but he welcomed it more than anything. He's enjoyed drowning in the softness the Assassin has exuded in the past few weeks.

The rafiq smiles endearingly, and gives Altaïr a reassuring pat.

"Well, if there's any friend you need to practice on, just drop on in here."

Altaïr smiles. 

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

The heat of that day had slowly dissolved away from Malik's mind, only feeling the warmth of him and Altaïr sitting on his counter in friendly silence. He was resting his head on the Assassin's shoulder, and Altaïr had rested his own on top of Malik's head, taking care not to get any more sweat on him than he did. In the back of Malik's mind, he was wondering if this was some sort of declaration of love, and why he wasn't so taken aback by such closeness between them. He loathed the man once, and now here he is, breathing him in as he listens to the soft rustle of his white robes and his steady breathing. He loathed Altaïr once, and now he loves him. And strangely, he was at peace with that.

"Altaïr?"

"Hm?"

"...I love you."

Silence followed, and Malik felt a tidal wave of shame wash over him, but instead of Altaïr pulling away in disgust, rejecting him or leaving altogether, he felt a soft kiss on top of his head within the mess of short black hair he possessed. The rafiq pulled himself up off of his shoulder to meet Altaïr’s loving gaze, and all that shame he had felt drained away as quickly as it came.

Malik opened his mouth, but no words came. He then decided that words would do no justice, and he leaned in and pressed his lips against the Assassin's, and the latter eagerly reciprocated. Malik raised his hand to bury in Altaïr’s curls, and in turn, Altaïr wrapped both arms around his shoulders. Their kiss deepened, but it remained soft, and after a minute, the two pulled away, breathless.

"So, you love me too, then?" Malik asked.

"Something like that, yes," Altaïr replied, brushing his nose with Malik's, and the latter hummed happily.

"I hope this isn't some heat borne fever dream I'm having. If I wake up back in Masyaf because I passed out due to dehydration, I'll be positively furious."

Malik barked out a laugh and shook his head, the Assassin grinning at his response.

"See? Told you I was funny."

**Author's Note:**

> i fucking love altmal and i've been thinking about how their banter is portrayed in fanart. malik is very tsundere-esque and that's always bothered me, given how warm he was in the last few interactions he had with altair in ac1, but then again, these pieces often take place within the midst of ac1 rather than the end. i've always conceptualized their banter as much more friendly once they're on better terms.
> 
> anyways, men in love and men kissing.


End file.
